The Weaver
by carolinka
Summary: Arthur is now king and his manservant... is called Jasper. Not all is well in the kingdom of Camelot, obviously. Very much a work in progress and the first one I'm having the guts to share.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur swore silently to himself. He cursed himself for putting on his armour this morning. In the stifling heat of the early September afternoon sun he felt like he was slowly turning into a well cooked piece of meat. However, they were getting closer to the edges of the kingdom and the border country was always riddled with robbers and smugglers. The prince nudged his horse into an easy canter, sprinted ahead for a few metres and then stopped to let the troupe of knights pass him. The horses and men had seen better days. After weeks on the roads they were all tired, hungry and more than one of them sported some sort of injury. Nothing serious, thankfully, but enough to hamper them should the group encounter anyone with less than benevolent intents.

Sir Leon at the rear of the Caravan settled his horse next to his Lord's.. "Leon, I think we should make camp early tonight. Give the men a chance to rest before we cross the border into Gaelith's kingdom."

The knight nodded. " It's been a while since I've been in the area, but there should be a little hamlet a few miles from here. We should be able to get some fresh food there, maybe shelter for the night. It would make a change from sleeping under the stars and eating nothing but dry rations-."

"That's a good idea, Leon. Let's hope your memory doesn't deceive you. I could do with a nice bath and maybe some fruit?"

Soon the men emerged into an area of fields, a few apple trees dotted the hillsides here and there and it wasn't long before they were spotted by a group of men working in the fields. A shout of alarm could be heard and the workers stopped, stared at them for a few seconds and then quickly set off towards the village that Arthur could just make out behind the next hill.

Bewildered, the knights moved on at a slow walk, carefully looking around, checking for a possible ambush . As soon as they entered the village, they were greeted by silence. Not a single person could be seen, the paddocks and stables appeared void of animals, only a lost chicken picked at the ground off to one side.

Arthur signalled his men to stop. The men dismounted, split into several groups and started to search the houses and buildings. One after the other turned up empty, until they turned a corner and there they were: what seemed to be every single able-bodied man and even some women. What struck the king immediately was how ragged and malnourished these villagers looked like. Arthur knew that it was normal for the country population to be a lot poorer than the city folk of Camelot, but this - this was bad.

One of the men- Arthur suspected him to be the village blacksmith, judging by the large hammer he was wielding and the bulk of muscles on his frame, stepped forward a couple of steps and shouted.

"Who are you? If you've come to steal our food you're too late. Your friends have already taken everything we own."

"We won't harm you- we're only passing through and we were hoping to find some shelter for the night. I am Arthur, the king of Camelot."

A gasp and a murmur went through the group of villagers at the mention of Arthur's name.

"How do we know that's the truth? For all we know you could be one of those brigands posing as the king!"

Suddenly a young woman pushed through the crowd and stepped up to the blacksmith. She spoke to him quietly and the burly blacksmith turned back to Arthur and shouted " I've been told that you are indeed Arthur of Camelot. We will offer you a roof for the night, Sire. Welcome to this sad part of the world."

The young woman nodded and turned back through the crowd. She offered her arm to an old, hunched over man who had a hood drawn deep into his face. Together, the pair slowly made their unsteady way in the direction of the last hovel at the end of the village.

Arthur didn't know why he had noticed the young woman, and there was something about the old man- he couldn't put his finger on it but he had the feeling he had seen that man before. Right now though he had other matters to attend to.

Several hours later the knights were camped in one of the large, painfully empty barns of the village, his manservant Jasper had prepared his bedroll in a secluded corner and Arthur's men sat around a fire chewing on their dried rations, James, the blacksmith, who appeared to be the headman of the village, had apologized profusely for being unable to offer the King and his men a meal, but Arthur had calmed the man, given him some jerky and got him to tell them about the brigands who had stolen their food stores.

Apparently a band of men had appeared just days after they'd finished bringing in the harvest, taking the children and some of the women as hostages and demanding food in exchange for their lives. The villagers, too surprised and unprepared for such an attack, had had no choice but to yield to the demands after the robbers had killed one of the women.

That night, Arthur slept fitfully. Images of starving children, dead and bloody women intermingled with memories of sorcerers and witches burned at the stake by his father. When he could make out the first glimpses of morning through the barn door the king gave up on trying to sleep. He knew his conscience wouldn't allow him to rest until they had caught the band of robbers. Having made his decision Arthur carefully stepped around his sleeping men to catch some of the fresh morning air. He needed a clear mind if he wanted to come up with a decent plan for justice.

Strolling through the village, Arthur was soon lost in thought. The attack came so suddenly that he didn't get the chance to see his assailant before he was bowled over and they landed in a tangled heap of limbs and fabric.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the nice reviews and encouraging me to keep going with this :) I thought I had the plot all figured out before I started writing, but my mind keeps playing tricks on me, changing it with almost every sentence I write... so it'll be almost as much of a surprise for me to see where I'll be taking this story as it will be for you... maybe I should add my own story to my story alerts ? Please keep up the lovely reviews and tell me where I go wrong, how I could improve. English is only my second language but writing Merlin in German just seems wrong somehow...

As soon as Arthur once more had some measure of control over his arms and legs he scrambled backwards and his hand instinctively went to his scabbard to draw his sword. He immediately felt much safer with Excalibur pointed at the attacker, who clambered to his feet and brushed of his skirts. Wait- skirts? Arthur mentally corrected himself- his attacker clambered to HER feet and brushed of HER skirts, then turned around and proceeded to yell at him:

" Watch where you're going, you big oaf! Don't you have eyes in that head on your shoulders? Or have you been daydreaming about some girl? Now you've made me drop the herbs I just collected. Don't just sit there- help me pick them up, you clotpole!"

Arthur's mind was still trying to process the tirade when the woman in front of him gasped:

" Oh, by the Goddess! Oh my word I'm so sorry Sire! I didn't recognise you or I would never have called you a clotpole. Oh please Sire forgive me- here, let me help you up!"

The king managed to fend off the unwanted help, sheathed his word and ungracefully got to his feet. He finally got the chance to take a closer look and he recognised the young woman from the day before, the one who had spoken to the blacksmith.

" Don't worry, Mylady. My pride is the only body part that was hurt just now. You were right- I didn't watch where I was headed. I was thinking about those bandits. Here, let me help you with those herbs."

The young woman just nodded and started to pick up the scattered leaves and twigs. She appeared too perplexed by the king's behaviour to actually know how she was supposed to behave.

For a few minutes they worked side by side until Arthur had gathered up the last handful of herbs.

"You have me at a disadvantage Mylady. You obviously know who I am but you haven't told me your name yet. How can I apologize for knocking you over if I don't know what to call you?"

The woman blushed. "Alyn, Sire. My name is Alyn."

"Well then Alyn, I am truly sorry for being a clotpole. I promise I will watch where I'm going from now on. In fact, I will go and find a quiet out-of-the-way spot right now, where I can think in peace and not harm any more beautiful young ladies.!"

Alyn had to giggle. " I think I can help you there, Sire. My uncle always says he has the best ideas down by the creek. Just follow that path over there. You should be undisturbed and according to my uncle the sounds of the water help calm the mind."

"Thank you Alyn. I will follow your advice. Will you come to the village barn later? I would like to speak to some of the villagers to get a better feel for these brigands. Your uncle certainly sounds like a wise person I would very much like to talk to."

"I'm sorry, Sire. My uncle is old and sick. He rarely leaves our hut these days except to go and sit beside the creek. I'm sure he will be honored by your request though. Perhaps you could- but no, Sire. I would not dare invite Your Majesty into our humble little house."

But Arthur only smiled and took Alyn's hand that rested on top of her basket. "If it would please your uncle I will come and visit you this afternoon. A friend taught me a long time ago that nobility does not stem from material wealth, but from the goodness of one's heart."

"That sounds like something my uncle would say. Thank You, Sire. We look forward to your visit."

Alyn curtsied and ducked into the entrance of her hut.

Arthur continued on the narrow path down to the stream. He found a small glade covered in wild flowers. An old tree stump provided an almost comfortable back rest and soon the gurgling of the water had lulled Arthur into closing his eyes and allowing his mind to drift. Instead of hatching a plan against the bandits he thought back to the days before he had united all of Albion, back when his father was still king of Camelot and Arthur nothing but the crown prince. He remembered the tournaments, training with his knights and- Merlin.

Merlin, his ever faithful, cheery and clumsy manservant. Merlin, who had turned out to be a sorcerer. Merlin, who had managed to hide right under his nose for years. Even after all this time Arthur's feelings were torn. His mind and his father told him that all sorcery was evil and should be wiped out, and yet his heart doubted that Merlin could ever have been out to harm him or Camelot.

The day Uther found out about Merlin was still clearly etched into Arthur's mind. A rogue druid had betrayed Merlin for a handful of coins and Uther had been furious. He'd blamed Arthur for being incompetent, he'd suspected Gaius of treason and had him thrown out of the castle and Gwen and most of the servants had been subjected to rigorous questioning.

In the end he'd decided that being burned at the stake wasn't enough punishment for Merlin and had sent for an executioner from a neighbouring kingdom. There had been rumours that the man was able to extract the magic from a sorcerer.

Merlin had been locked away in the dungeons for several months and Uther hadn't allowed anyone except the guards to visit him, not even Arthur. Only once the prince had managed to sneak down to Merlin's cell, intent on confronting the locked up warlock, needing answers and explanations. The small window in the cell door hadn't let Arthur get a good look inside the dark, damp prison cell, but he'd just been able to make out a curled up, shackled figure in the far corner. Merlin had been shivering on the cold stone floor, his eyes had been closed or swollen shut and his whole face was black and blue from where he'd obviously been beaten. Arthur had been unable to stand the sight and had fled the dungeon without speaking to his former manservant. And he wasn't sure if he'd actually heard the whispered words through the heavy oak door. "Forgive me, Arthur..."


End file.
